


He came from a land down under

by Fault



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Australian Slang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fault/pseuds/Fault
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier run into a Witcher from a long way away. Geralt knows him, and Jaskier has no idea what's happening. Cue outrageous Aussie slang, hilarious misunderstandings, and drinking.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 50
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of c word. In some cultures it isn't a high impact swear. But I don't know you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a stranger saunters into town and upends Geralt and Jaskier’s day.

"Fuck me dead, if it isn't Geralt of fucking Rivia!" Came the emphatic cry from across the town square. 

An ordinary day became very strange with that single shouted... greeting.

If the words themselves hadn't swivelled Jaskier’s head in an instant to look, the accent would have, nasal yet insouciant and informal, with oddly flattened vowels. It was quite unfamiliar to Jaskier, a feat in itself for someone so well travelled.

Then he saw the man who uttered it, and his mouth dropped open. He bumped to a stop on Geralt's solid shoulder, who'd stopped to stare at the man. This tall, handsome stranger reminded Jaskier of nothing so much as a heraldic lion.

Up until a moment ago, they were having a fairly standard visit in a small town. Geralt was getting repairs done, Roach was having a rest, Jaskier had schmoozed his way into performing at the local tavern because they were short on coin due to his terrible tendency to cheat a cards. They were on their way for Geralt to seek contracts when they heard that outrageous cry.

After making it, the man swaggered towards them at a relaxed speed, loaded down with a saddle and gear. The lion-like characteristics of him came most of all from a wild mop of sun kissed hair, flowing out from beneath a wide brimmed hat pushed far up his head, and a golden tan. The reinforced leather armour he wore did nothing to reduce the impression, being made of a haphazard collection of tans and browns. In fact, the leather was so varied, and the whole person so covered in road dust, it was a little hard to tell where his armour ended and his golden skin began.

He was a tall, rangy man, his grin wide and toothy, and very white framed by his richly hued tan. His inhuman yellow eyes smiled so much and so well that he had deep crows feet. What oddity was this? A relaxed, smiling witcher, walking through a town like no matter where he was, he belonged there. He was like the sun to Geralt's moon. Jaskier was entranced.

Geralt just gave a resigned sigh when he saw the man. 

"Play along." He gritted out to Jaskier before they got any closer to one another.

"What?" Jaskier asked, distractedly, his hand at his own collar.

"He's foreign. You'll get used to him." Geralt elaborated sparely, his expression softened by fondness as he gave a casual wave of acknowledgement to the man. 

"You know this spectacular creature?" Jaskier asked, intrigue colouring his tone.

"Yes." Geralt said shortly, and then the strange witcher was running up to him, arms open, dropping his gear on the ground. A few nearby villagers backed away at the sight of two witchers on a collision course. 

"Geraaaallt! Ya mad cunt. Shouldn't you be dead by now?" The strange witcher said, scooping the shorter Geralt up and wrestling him side to side a bit, before putting him back on his feet and shifting his weight from foot to foot instead. Jaskier continued to gawp, this time at Geralt too, for allowing this outlandish behaviour. 

"Bazza." Geralt returned more calmly, clapping the strange witcher on the back resoundingly. Then they parted and stood back a surprisingly large distance from one another, given the enthusiastic warmth of the greeting. Bazza took a wide stance, hands resting on the hilts of a pair of massive knives, only a single sword amongst his gear. The Witchers smiled at one another as they looked each other over. 

“Dear Master Witcher, I’m honoured to make your acquaintance.” Jaskier said with melodious richness and a courtly bow towards Bazza.

“Born with a silver spoon up yer arse were ya?” Bazza grunted at Jaskier, then dismissed his presence entirely to speak with Geralt again. Jaskier went apoplectic with insulted shock, gaping like a stranded fish, but Geralt just caught his eye and shook his head minutely. Jaskier shut his mouth, and frowned.

"Ya got anywhere to be this arvo?" Bazza asked Geralt, sounding earnest, serious.

"Just... piss farting around." Geralt replied with a casual shrug and a pleased little smile, and Jaskier goggled even more - if possible - at Geralt's use of this strange dialect. "Why?"

"Then knock back a stubbie with me. My shout." Bazza says in an oddly intense but relaxed fashion, communicating an emotion Jaskier couldn't quite identify. He looked back and forth between one and the other witcher, trying to decipher what was happening. Especially as Geralt’s eyes were now crinkled into a mirror of Bazza’s own happiness. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open again.

Then Bazza seemed to finally notice him once more, and sized him up with a dismissive look. 

"Careful mate, y'll catch flies." He demonstrated his meaning by clicking his mouth shut. "Who’s this wanker anyway?" Bazza gestured at Jaskier while looking at Geralt in distaste, as though wondering why anyone would voluntarily be associated with someone so richly dressed.

Geralt looked at Jaskier for a moment, considering his reply, then said, deliberately, hand engulfing Jaskier’s shoulder in friendship, and Jaskier relaxed, until Geralt started speaking. "This cunt is my mate Jaskier. He's a prissy little shit but he can't half sing." Jaskier tried to match the enthusiastic approval Geralt forced into his tone with the insults coming out of his mouth, and failed. He made an offended noise at Geralt.

"This sooky muso's the Jaskier?" Bazza said in enthusiastic disbelief, finally turning the full weight of his attention to Jaskier. Who now prickled up to his full height, exceedingly annoyed to be at the butt of insults he didn't even fully understand. Bazza seemed unfazed. "Maaate. Ripper song that Toss-a, ye’ve done me a solid, ya poncy dickhead. I owe you one."

"Ex-cuse me?!" Jaskier spat each syllable out vehemently, looking affronted but not entirely sure how offended he should be, his feet shuffled trying to find a stance that correctly communicated his outrage. 

Bazza laughed easily and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't getcha knickers in a twist, I’m just taking the piss."

"What piss?" Jaskier said hotly, he had liked this dialect to start with, but was feeling exceedingly sour about it now that he was at its mercy.

"... Out of ya." Bazza finished the saying, brow furrowed, which left Jaskier completely unenlightened, as he was totally ignorant of it.

"What?" Jaskier spluttered.

"He means we're just joking around." Geralt explained patiently.

"Yeah, I don't mean I'm accostin' ya in the dunny." Bazza chuckled at the thought.

"Dunny?" Jaskier asked, lost again. He'd thought he'd enjoy a smiling, sunny, happy witcher, but this one had him completely off kilter.

"Shit house." Bazza said plainly, then moved the conversation onwards. "Come on, ya stuffy Northern bastards, let's get that drink I was yakking about." He gestured back toward the tavern. Then he ruffled Jaskier’s hair like he was a kid before he could stop him.

"We talked about a drink?" Jaskier asked Geralt, looking as ruffled of expression as he was of hair, and trying to latch onto any positives.

Bazza picked up his gear and wandered off towards the tavern. Jaskier wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream biting insults at the man, or just scream in utter bewilderment. What sort of strange fae creature insulted strangers with utter smiling relaxation?

"Knocking back stubbies means drinking bottles of beer." Geralt explained as they followed. “He’s paying.” Geralt nodded at Bazza.

“Oh.. “ Jaskier didn’t know what to make of the man buying him a drink after insulting him so resoundingly.

"I'm Bazza by the way, I come from out Wagga Wagga way, in Wiradjuri country." Bazza introduced himself to Jaskier as the pair caught up to him.

"Jaskier, bard." Jaskier said in reflexive cold civility, feeling utterly deflated, looking at Bazza warily. He noted this made the stranger look at him approvingly, weirdly. "I've never heard of .. Wiradjuri before." He said, doing his best to pronounce the unusual sounds of it.

"Yeah, because some prick decided to rename the whole place Van Diemens Land without asking any of the locals about it." Bazza explained irritably, face a solid blank of anger.

"Oh. The Great Southern Land." Jaskier said, voice breathy with fascination, remembering his Oxenfurt studies of a land so far off it seemed utterly wreathed in myth and mystery. No wonder he felt like he was talking to a fae creature with an alien language. 

"On the noggin." Bazza confirmed. "Anyway, the past fortnight's been utter horse shit and wank. Come spin a yarn with me. I'll shout'cha a Rum and cola if it's not too exy. I'd getcha beer, but the piss around here tastes like a vampire took a slash in horse pie." He said, and then entered the tavern.

Jaskier tried to fathom why a vampire would be cutting pies, and what it had to do with beer quality, he was about to ask but Geralt just caught his eye and shook his head no.

"Cheers, mate." Geralt said, answering for the both of them. Jaskier trailed after him like a forlorn but colourful flag. They found and sat at a free table. Once they were seated, Jaskier tried to fathom what was happening. 

"Why did he insult you.. And me... so much? He appears to genuinely like you." And you him, Jaskier thought, as soon as he felt sure the tavern noise would give him privacy to voice the question. 

Geralt sat, and made himself comfy, looking very thoughtful before explaining as best he could. "It's a practice I named 'calling a spade a spade'. By putting someone's character in an unflattering light, you show you care about them genuinely, without having any illusions about who they really are. He likes you."

"That's... weird." Jaskier muses, trying to run the conversation through his mind again to figure out what happened and whether he should still be offended. He hadn't gotten very far when Geralt continued.

"What you need to know is that Bazza won't try to humiliate you if you don't act superior. And other than your ego, he's harmless... Unless you're not harmless, of course." He mused.

"So, like you then.” Jaskier replied. “OK.. so.. if I just.. speak plainly, he'll ... like it?" Jaskier asked, figuring that Geralt and Bazza shared a fair few traits in common, strangely enough.

"Pretty much. Don't flatter him, and don't insult him either, you don't know him well enough to do it right." Geralt advised.

"Thank you dearly, Geralt. I admit I was utterly discombobulated." Jaskier said, finally feeling like he could - perhaps - converse with the lion-like witcher without being completely lost and simultaneously enraged.

Bazza plopped three cups of what Jaskier assumed was 'Rum and Cola' in front of them.

"Where's your horse?" Geralt asked.

"Fucking bruxa full on took a chunk outta Jazza, 'bout a week ago, poor thing carked it. Been on shank's pony ever since." Bazza said, face tight with anguish. 

"Mate." Geralt said sympathetically, with feeling. 

"It was pretty crook." Bazza admitted sadly.

"You must be... devo." Geralt said, seriously. "You need a hug mate?"

"Too right I do." Bazza said, and Geralt scooted over so he could wrap an arm around Bazza’s shoulders, which slumped as soon as he did so, expression moving to barely restrained grief. They stayed that way a long time, Bazza silently weeping. This left Jaskier at a complete loose end, so he gingerly sipped his drink, which turned out to be quite sweet, and he drunk most of the rest of it.

They stayed in that awkward tableau until Bazza sniffed, straightened, and gave Geralt a final thump of a pat on the back before they separated to sit in their own distant seats again. 

"She was the best little dobby you could ever ask for." Bazza lamented, and downed half of his cup. 

"Too right." Geralt replied, and sipped his own. Which was apparently the right answer.

"Too right." Jaskier echoed quietly, and did the same.

Eventually, the mourning silence was ended by Bazza. "What are you fuckers doing here anyway?" he asked genially.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short extension. I'm sticking with smaller chapters and more frequent updates. This fic was so well received, I hope to make you all smile again.

“Well -” Jaskier began to explain. Geralt cut him off with a gesture. Geralt spoke as though this was a formal question, that he wanted to answer correctly. “We came from ... out/ Oxenfurt way. Heading /down towards Tor country, got some witcher business there. Sounds like a basilisk, could just be tosh.”

Bazza grunted in sympathy. “That's the bugger of it.” 

"Too right." Jaskier chips in, happy to have mostly understood something. 

"You?" Geralt asks in return, succinctly. 

Bazza blew out a breath. "It's complicated, but I’m up from Yolngu country on blackfella business. Elders reckon it's important. So I'm not here to fuck spiders."

"Ah. I understand." Geralt said in sympathy. 

Jaskier didn't... Jaskier had a LOT of questions to ask about that. But before he could, Bazza pushed away from the table and said.

"Fuck it, I'm going on smoko. Me crack and daks have been a swamp all arvo. I'm getting a proper wash before I get meself some grub." Bazza said, before wandering casually to the bar arranging a room and bath for himself from the barkeep, opening the conversation with his signature smile and a cheery "G'day".

"Riight..." Jaskier said. Once Bazza was gone he continued. "Geralt, is Bazza infested with something?"

"No, he just has sweaty underwear. Grub is food." Geralt replied. 

"Urgh. What's the smoko part mean? Is he heating the water himself? Is he in danger of burning the inn down?" Jaskier asked, worried. 

"It just means taking a break. Down South, anyone who smokes shows good manners by going outside to do it." Geralt says, brow furrowed as he digs through his dusty memories.

"Oh... as someone who sings in taverns, I absolutely applaud those manners. Maybe he's not as strange and uncouth as I first thought." Jaskier said appreciatively. 

Up at the bar Bazza was regaling the barkeep. "Yeah nah, me mum fucked a cattle dog. But I've trained meself not to bite ankles." He said with a suspiciously straight face. "Me brother is great during muster, but my sister can be a real bitch."

"No, he is." Geralt said. "He's just also a good bloke. As I said, you get used to him." 

Bazza’s conversation with the innkeeper continued to be audible to the whole bar. "I'm pulling your leg. I am what you lot call a Witcher. Back home though I'm a fuckin oath breaker. Or a Chaos Wrangler."

"I like him." Jaskier said fondly. "Never a dull moment, and his hair is almost as gorgeous as yours."

Geralt grunts and looks sideways at Jaskier's moony face.

"Oh shush, you're used to me too." Jaskier said, when he noticed the look. 

Jaskier was looking forward to talking with Bazza more. But apparently the man liked his baths, and by the time he was back, Jaskier is already warming up the audience for the night's show. 

As appeared to be the standard, Bazza announced his presence with an outrageous outburst. There was a piercing whistle from the edge of the drinking room as Jaskier finished up a song. "Show us your tits!" Bazza yelled. The entire bar room turned to stare.

Now clean, shaven, and dressed in more casual clothes, Bazza was ridiculously appealing. His scars looked masculine and rugged, his hair shifted colours from gold to chestnut like a tigers eye gem, brushed back and falling neatly just short of his shoulders. His necklace, now visible, was decorated with an exotic array of charms in addition to his medallion. 

With an approachable slouch and a relaxed smile, he winked winningly at everyone who caught his eye, which was most of the room after that entrance. His strong eyebrows were expressive and playful, and he was charming most of them with a look. It almost annoyed Jaskier that not a single pretty eye in the house was looking at him. But he couldn't really blame anyone for wanting to look at Bazza. The magnificent bastard.

Geralt already had his face hidden in his hand in embarrassment. Jaskier grinned. This was going to be an interesting night. Time to really test his skills as a performer. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shenanigans and drinking.

After that shocking heckle about his chest, Jaskier was momentarily flummoxed. 

But like a true performer, he picked it up and ran with it. Grinned and played the opening chords of "Toss a Coin" saying.

"They are rather good, aren't they?" He winked and wiggled his shoulders a little to help show them off, then continued:

"Good people of Mawn, I give you Bazza of Wagga Wagga. Witcher, bitcher and side-stitcher of a comedian." He razzle dazzled, with over the top gestures. Bazza stood and took an over the top bow to the audience in return. 

Jaskier continued, answering.  
"I'm brazen, sweet heart." He tugged at his chemise. "But even I reserve them for private showings. Have some class." Jaskier rebuked Bazza with a smile.

"Do Toss a Coin." Bazza returned, not giving in so easily. 

"What are you, my Lord?" Jaskier asked.

"Ooh. Low blow." Bazza feigned injury.

"However. Never let it be said that I'm not magnanimous to my audience." Jaskier drawled, and launched into Toss a Coin after all.

It was a highly unusual and thoroughly entertaining set, as he and Bazza played off one another. 

Bazza was magnificently happy to be Jaskier’s object model of witcherhood. Flexing muscles and pulling faces at the lyrics command. Or telling Jaskier to fuck off if he said something Bazza disagreed with. 

Geralt did his best not to get involved, just looking pained with a raised eyebrow, and saying no in his gravelly voice when that wasn't dissuasive enough. For all that, he actually looked entertained by the antics if he didn't get involved.

The more delicate of constitution in the audience were shocked. The more rowdy thoroughly entertained. Then Bazza challenged him to a drinking contest mid set. And Jaskier accepted.

It was like attending a circus. Or a festival. Jaskier graciously lost the drinking contest, to thunderous applause, and then called time on his set, to sober up and piss, as much as rest his voice. 

"You're a corker. Last human who took me up on a drinking contest was a twat who couldn't find his own arse with both hands and a map." Bazza crowed happily. Apparently pleased no end that he'd goaded Jaskier into drunkenness. 

"Wh- ? How come I can understand Elder speech, but your .. garbled drivel flummoxes me no end." Jaskier said cuttingly and gestured vaguely at Bazza’s general existence.

"Cos you're a toffy pom. Don't worry, I'm not gunna hold it against ya. Bards are pretty much all ponces and wankers, but you’re all right when you're not being a smarmy prick." Bazza said.

Jaskier could tell from Bazza’s tone that some part of that were supposed to be an actual insult, and some was just a joke, but what and exactly why were still very much unclear. "Geralt, I don't know what he actually meant about toffee, but don't let him near me with sweets, I bet he gets sticky hands like a small child." Jaskier said back derisively, pointedly ignoring the insults, as seemed the best available option.

Bazza laughed again at that."You're good value."

"Good value am I? Well, I'm not cheap. But I am easy." Jaskier said saucily into his drink, which Geralt had prudently made sure was heavily watered this time.

If depth of feeling was measured by force, Bazza liked Jaskier a lot, considering how hard he clapped him on the back, belly laughing again, sloshing his drink a little.

"Geralt. How’d you con this artsy fartsy pretty boy into nipping your heels anyway? He swallow a horseshoe, or is he just not the full pack of iced Vovos?” Bazza said.

Jaskier slammed his noe empty cup on the table in offense, and slung an arm around Geralt's shoulders possessively.

"This is my cunt." He said emphatically, pointing at Geralt’s face, to Geralt's visible annoyance. "Don't you, don’t you piss him out!" Jaskier said emphatically, sure Bazza was questioning their friendship somehow, and he was wounded by it. Wounded. "You... you bastard shit beard." He said in a hilariously betrayed tone.

Bazza pushed back from the table and started coughing extravagantly, due to accidentally inhaling his drink in helpless snorting laughter. 

"I'll cock you out! Right out of town on Shank's dunny! See if I don’t. " Jaskier snarked sourly.

Bazza just curled in on himself, laughing uncontrollably. Geralt groaned in extreme embarrassment, his face in both his hands now.

“Fucken oath! Ya sound like you ‘ave a kangaroo loose in your top paddock.” Bazza wheezed between shuddering breaths, in amused disbelief at Jaskier's outburst.

“I have Kangaroos loose all over the place! I am the full packet of loose kangaroos!” Jaskier said triumphantly, standing up and gesturing broadly. “Geralt is my friend, we both heard him call me a cunt! ... Which apparently means he cares about me more than he can say. And I won’t let you demean our friendship. I love him like a brother.”

“Jaskier. Shut up. You’re drunk.” Geralt looked like he wished to disappear. 

“No.. No! He’s laughing.. Laughing! At the bond we share, Geralt, and I want everyone here to know you’re my cunt bastard. And I won’t have anyone say differently.” 

Bazza fell off the chair laughing, but caught himself on the edge of the table before he could slip too far, his whole body jiggling with an abject case of the giggles. 

“Jaskier..." Geralt sounded strangled. "Bazza just said that if you follow me around, you're either tougher than you look, or an idiot. I think you've proved which. So sit down.”

"Oh.." Jaskier said, and sat down. "Well. I still mean every word." He said, and straightened his doublet.

Bazza just lay his head on his own arm and wheezed out more strange sounding giggles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less dense laughs. Bit of world building instead.

Bazza left the table to get them some more drinks, and Jaskier leaned his head against Geralt's shoulder. 

"Geralt, I'd finally gotten at least a few members of the audience to flutter their eyes at me in return, and now I've made an idiot of myself for no good reason." Jaskier said forlornly.

"So it's Saturday then?" Geralt replied with dry cheekiness, feeling in good humour again.

Meanwhile Bazza stopped at the table of some young ladies who were shyly looking back at the witcher. He smiled, they smiled back.

"Don't be mean." Jaskier pouted to Geralt, oblivious. "There are beauties who love my music here. You know I can't resist that sort of allure." Geralt doesn’t bother to argue, so they sit in silence for a long moment until Jaskier gets curious again. 

"Why does Bazza keep going to the bar anyway, when there are barmaids?" Jaskier asked, sure it was another fascinating tale of his culture.

"Because the barmaids are flat out, and I have legs." Bazza said, suddenly returning to their table with a chair in each hand and a lady on each arm.

"Geralt. What happened? There are beautiful women suddenly." Jaskier smiled up at them in happy confusion. Geralt nods and smiles as pleasantly as he can to the young ladies, no teeth.

"Bazza happened." Geralt murmured, while Bazza took the ladies drinks orders. "Now you know what it's like to hang out with you."

"Lovely but annoying? Oh Geralt, this is why you're my cunt friend." Jaskier cooed. Everyone at the table just looked at him.

"Nope. Stop saying that." Geralt shook his head firmly and took a drink, face tight with annoyance.

"You're right. Can we ignore I said that?" Jaskier asked hopefully, looking from face to face. 

Bazza looks at him sympathetically. "Buckley's chance, mate. However, these beaut sheilas are Melody." He hooked a thumb at the tall slender brunette, with the delightful freckles and the pretty blue dress.  
"and Tara," He made the same gesture to the shorter buxom blonde in green and brown on his other side. "... and they already know how hilarious you are from ya stint on stage. You mind if they join us for a natter? " Bazza asked.

"Oh, by all means. Natter away" Jaskier tried to stand and welcome them to the table with a courtly gesture, and managed to only stumble once, and whack his hand against the table slightly. His smile barely faltered. "Ow. Oh, you're the one with the beautiful smile, sweet Melody. It is delightful that you have a beautiful name too." Jaskier said, and Melody smiled at him indulgently. Bazza seated the ladies next to each other, leaving a distance between them and the men at the table, more fascinating cultural more for Jaskier to fuzzily observe.

"I told ya the boof-head is good for a laugh." Bazza said to the ladies while he smiled and winked at Jaskier, then left to pick up their drinks. 

Jaskier took over the conversation surprisingly smoothly, able to flirt in his sleep if required after all. “Melody, Tara. Surely you’ve heard of The White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. And myself, of course his talented and devoted bard Jaskier. What topics would you like to converse on, now that we’re all acquainted?"

"Well... I want to know, how many of the songs are real?" Melody asked, curious.

With a sparkle in his eye, Jaskier launched into a lyrical and slightly wandering description of Geralt and his own process of fame creation via song. When Bazza returned with the drinks, he just shared a look with Geralt about how much bullshit Jaskier was spouting about his own singing. Then things became a little surprising when Tara asked a follow up question.

"Are there songs about heroic monster slaying in your corner of the world Bazza?" Melody asked about music in Bazza’s homeland. 

"Nah, yeah. Not quite like that. There are some real important Blackfella songs about important historic events. But most of our musos are different ... less fancy than Jas." Bazza said, trying and somewhat failing to moderate his breadth of local lingo.

"Different how?" Jaskier asks, seizing the chance to show off his core knowledge. "The instruments, the rhythm structures, the depth and texture of harmony? The meta contextual references to cultural touchstones?"

"I said LESS fancy." Bazza scoffed, condescending, then thumped on the table for a beat, and crooned a little bit of his favourite song, and his voice wasn't bad. Deep, a little rough, but in tune and pleasant. Melody and Tara were delighted.

“You can sing?!” Jaskier startled, scandalised. 

“A smidge. I’m not about to keep mum while me mates all sing together, am I?” Bazza said, thinking the idea laughable, but also smug that he'd shown himself not to be a complete naif when it came to music.

“You travel with other witchers?” Jaskier looked at Geralt askance, now somehow wounded that he didn't provide Jaskier with a singing band of witchers to travel with. “You travel and sing with other witchers?!”

“Off and on, I have other friends.” Bazza explained bluntly, scornful.

"I bet you do." Jaskier said, strangely envious, and yet also dismissive. 

“Wait.. why didn’t you tell me you could sing during my performance?!” Jaskier asked, realising the performance opportunities missed.

“Not my gig. You didn't ask.” Bazza said easily. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

“Well... tell us more. I’m intrigued.” Tara said. Melody also seemed entranced, and Jaskier almost pouted at the lack of attention.

Then Bazza told them about all sorts of adventures, and all sorts of cultural mores. His language and gestures remained highly animated, but a lot more polite than earlier in the night.

“Bazza. You’re very gentlemanly with these ladies here. I’m rather intrigued by it, given how rough you are with fellow men.” Jaskier noted.

Bazza held up a finger. “Correction. I’m rough with colleagues. ‘Cos I know they can take it. I just assumed you kinda count as half-Witcher since Geralt’s ya best mate. Didn’t wanna offend ya by treating you too delicate.” Bazza explained. 

Jaskier was flattered, sorr of. He opened his mouth, hesitated, started again. “You are most ... strange. But I like you a lot. And please, feel free to treat me as delicately as any lady. I promise I won’t be offended.” Jaskier clarified, hoping to avoid any more hearty back slaps.

“Piece of piss." Bazza acquiesced. "Bards usually are delicate types anyway. Gotta keep your face pretty.” Bazza grinned again, leaning forward to pinch Jaskier's chin between two fingers, then absently scratching at a very becoming scar on his own cheek as he leaned back again.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, incensed that Bazza could be so charming, and one-up Jaskier in the attractive stakes at the same time. Bloody sexy witchers and their masculine scars. How was he supposed to win hearts like this? The group chatted happily together, and Jaskier was only slightly annoyed that Bazza’s stories were more fascinating than his own. Not to mention Bazzs was utterly charming every time one of the ladiesasked him to clarify his dialect phrases.  
Later, another interesting fact came to light.

“It’s always a bit of a dog's breakfast coming North. The average person here is just as bigoted as the colonial lords and their servants are, when it comes to Witchers.” Bazza complained heartily.

“People treat you kindly down South?” Melody asked.

“Yeah, once they get to know you a little, know what to expect out of you. They're like that with everyone. Treat 'em right, and they'll treat you right. Unless they're a colonial lord. Which is no surprise, rich people are all buggers of bastards. Doesn't matter where you are. And anyone willing to serve them picks up the same bigotry too.“

“Bastard meaning corrupt in this context.” Geralt chipped in to clarify the oddness of apparently saying Nobility weren't of noble birth.

"But, really, no one is scared of you?" Tara asked.

“Am I scary?" Bazza asked Tara jovially.

"Well... not... yes?" Tara replied, flustered. Unsure of how to word it inoffensively. Bazza took pity.

He smiled gently. "Mostly not. Everyone local back home knows me. Usually I make sure to muck in with all the big harvests and musters, especially at the dry end of the year.” Bazza explained. 

“You take other jobs?” Tara asked.

“Nah, yeah. I’m part of a community. Besides, how’m I gunna get a decent beer round the traps if I don’t help make sure the wheat is in before the rains come on?” Bazza self deprecated his importance in his home range. 

"Most my witcher jobs come from whitefellas anyway." He explained further. “The blackfellas know what's what, don’t cause so much trouble with the local monsters. They have whole landscapes shaped by Chaos, and full of resources and natural wonders, plus art and stories so strong they bend reality. Though, none of those things aren't really separate." Bazza said, voice full of admiration, and wonder. Then he winced.

"The conjunction of the spheres mucked it all up something severe, and they've been trying to put it right ever since. That’s where witchers came in handy, back in the day. These days though, it's mostly the colonial lords fucking around with Chaos that causes the worst of it. That's my usual gig." Bazza said, with resignation.

"Large slice of my job is translating. I tell the whitefellas what the problem is and try to get them to make a proper job of fixing it. White lords are utter numpties and don't listen half the time though."

"You translate?" Jaskier scoffed in disbelief.

"Yeah, I take the jobs from the local colonial wankers, and then I go back to the blackfellas, because I speak a fair whack of Language, and they help me figure out how to get the white drongo who hired me to stop shitting off the local oogedy boogedies, so we can all get some bloody peace and quiet." Bazza says.

"Yeah... those white drongos." Jaskier tried to sympathise knowingly.

"Example A of a white drongo. " Bazza indicated Jaskier to the ladies, and winked with humour.

The Ladies in question giggled, and Geralt poked Jaskier to stop him from escalating the insult war.

"I've been honoured to be called in on blackfella business more than a few times. They're usually powerful enough to deal with their own troubles. Them trusting me is... big, even though I’m a witcher. That’s how bad the colonial lords are." He mused. Tara and Melody were rather awed.

Then he snapped out of his serious mood, grinning. "Wait... Measure me melon, I think I'm getting a big head about it." Bazza said, ducking his head and pointing at it. 

Tara laughed as she put her hands around his head to measure it, blushing to be actually touching a Witcher. Especially on his lovely golden hair. Then Melody yawned discreetly behind a hand.

Bazza noticed, and said diplomatically. “I reckon us lot should pack it in for the night. I bet yous two have to be up at sparrow’s fart anyway." He looked at Melody and Tara. "Whatcha reckon?”

“I think you're right Bazza, if you mean we should both go home and sleep." Melody said, looking at Tara meaningfully.

“No, do stay a little longer.” Jaskier pleaded with Melody, unwilling to stop looking at her pretty smiles.

"Are your ears painted on?" Bazza asked Jaskier, incredulous. Jaskier reached up to feel his ears out of a sense of utter confusion. 

"Geralt, you’re enjoying socialising with these ladies too...? ” Jaskier protested.

“Yes, they’ve been quite pleasant interlocutors. Good night Melody, Tara. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Geralt rumbled pleasantly and touched a hand to his forelock in farewell.

“But..” Jaskier said, hands still holding one of Melody's own.

“Bloody Oath, Jaskier. I said at the start that all I wanted was to chin wag, and I meant it.” Bazza turned pointedly towards the ladies and away from Jaskier. “Can I walk you ladies home? It’s late, and I have decades of experience protecting humanity to recommend me as a body guard.”

“Why yes, Bazza. It would please me greatly.” Melody said, taking his elbow.

“Me too.” Tara agreed, taking the other.

“Good night Jaskier, Geralt. " Melody said, and Jaskier stood to give her a proper courtly kiss on the hand in farewell.

"Good night." Tara said, much more distractedly, still entranced by Bazza. Bazza left with one lady on each arm, they looked up at him approvingly, adoringly, in a way that made Jaskier truly envious, and also admiring of Bazza’s achieving that sort of admiration, as a foreign Witcher no less.

As soon as they were gone, Jaskier plopped back down at the table with Geralt, disgruntled and alone. 

“What just happened? I was sure Melody wanted to spend the night with me...” Jaskier complained forlornly. 

“It’s called being a gentleman, Jaskier. Bazza has a knack for it.” Geralt said. 

"And my courtly self is not a gentleman?" Jaskier huffed.

"No, you're an unrelenting sex-pot." Geralt replied, flatly disapproving of Jaskier’s habit of seducing everyone and anyone who caught his eye. Jaskier ignored him.

"I bet he's just taking them somewhere quiet so he can kiss them both without anyone disapproving of it." Jaskier said bitterly.

"Then you still don't understand him in the slightest." Geralt replied. 

"Have you heard him? Honestly, who does?" Jaskier said, staring at the door Bazza had just exited. Frankly also annoyed at himself for not being able to read the situation socially.

"Bazza happened." Jaskier said bitterly. Geralt clapped him on the shoulder in solidarily.


	5. Good night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another quieter one, before we go have some more fun.

\---  
Chapter 5

Jaskier was still in a soothing bath when Bazza returned to Geralt and his room, making the most of the hot water after Geralt had given himself a quick wash. 

Geralt and Bazza started up some shop talk.

"How are Chilly bin and the sheep shagger?" Bazza started off, mystifying Jaskier. 

Geralt replied. "Still kicking. How are Ginger and the Lightning Rod?"

"Still fuckheads. Bruce isn't as much of a wanker as he used to be though." Bazza reflected.

"Good. He was surprisingly up himself for a friend of yours." Geralt nodded. "Seriously, Lightning Rod?"

"Too right." Bazza grinned.

"Your friend Bruce goes by the name Lightning Rod?” Jaskier asked, parsing the conversation better than usual. 

“Used too. Funny story.” Bazza said.

"How have I listened to you all night and still you're full of surprises?" Jaskier asked fondly.

"You've lived a sheltered life." Bazza shrugged.

"I haven't been accused of that since the day I arrived at Oxenfurt." Jaskier mused in disbelief and started washing his hair.

"The old fart hasn't had a wall fall on 'im yet?" Bazza asked Geralt.

"We've been keeping our walls up pretty well, actually." Geralt said dryly. “And so has he.”  
“Give him my best.” Bazza said earnestly.

After a few more of these incomprehensible pleasantries, Jaskier asked

“So... how did it go with the ladies you escorted home?” He cracked an eye open as hhe relaxed in the bath.

“Exactly as I hoped, Tara gave me a kiss goodbye.” Bazza said with a fond little smile.

"Wait. You were never angling to have... feminine company tonight?" Jaskier asked delicately.

Bazza took a moment to understand Jaskier’s meaning. "You mean shag? Not on a first date. However, if either of them is still interested when I come back through town later on?" Bazza shrugged. "Maybe then we can bump uglies, then." Bazza said evenly.

Bazza thought a second and looked askance at Jaskier. "Don't tell me you’ll get in bed with someone you've just met..." He said, unamused.

Geralt pitched in an honest, if irritable answer. "The only reason he has lived to regret falling in bed at first sight so often, is because I am conscientious of his safety in that regard."

Bazza stared at Geralt to confirm he was serious, then at Jaskier again. "Strewth, you're more of a root rat than the muso's back home. You toey bastard." Bazza shook his head in shocked disbelief.

"In case that needed translation, Bazza has correctly deduced that you’re both horny and sex mad, Jaskier." Geralt said, somewhat smugly. 

"I... they're... we... Can you blame me when there is always such delectable company to keep?" Jaskier defended himself weakly.

"Yes. It's called impulse control." Geralt replied flatly.

Bazza pitched in too. "Have some class, Jas. Sounds like you bang like a dunny door in a hurricane." Bazza rebuked Jaskier. 

“I... you...“ Jaskier covered his naked chest defensively. He wasn’t sure when his ability to charm had become a character flaw. Most people envied him for it. Also, how was it that Bazza had a mouth like a sewer, but both Witchers appeared to agree that Jaskier was the low class one here. Again he felt utterly off kilter, for the dozenth time tonight.

“I’m very sought after in bed, thank you. And I’ve had many compliments, and few complaints.” Jaskier said defensively.

“You were expecting our very friendly Bazza here was going to be as much of a hornbag as yourself, weren't you?” Geralt asked.

“Well... yes. Sort of. It’s not like he’s short on willing partners.” Jaskier complained. "I saw women hover around our table, hoping to get Bazza’s attention. He could have his pick of the room." Jaskier mourned.

“Not all of us have to try and stick our dick in someone to really enjoy their company.” Bazza said.

"I don't.. It's not like that. Why am I the bad guy here?" Jaskier asked Geralt, he felt very small somehow.

"Dunno Jaskier, why are you the bad guy here?" Bazza asked, his electric yellow gaze boring into Jaskier.

"I have truly cared for and respected everyone I've ever slept with, thank you." Jaskier huffed.

"You sure about that?" Bazza asked.

"What are you saying?" Jaskier asked huffily. 

"In my experience, big headed people like Musos like it when their fame is enough to get them into a girl's pants right away, because they know they'll be gone the next day, without having to answer any awkward questions about what it all meant."

"I ... oh. That's true isn't it?" Jaskier replied. 

"You tell me." Bazza said, questioningly.

"Actually, I'm often sleeping with women of high social standing, so it's more like I'm the trophy fuck, than me taking advantage of my fame to, you know...” He gestures vaguely. “At least most of the time." Jaskier said quietly.

"Jas, I'm not calling you a bad bloke. I've just seen a lot of pretty faced musos break a lot of hearts in my life." Bazza said. 

"Usually the one with the broken heart is me, I assure you." Jaskier said sadly. 

"That, is true." Geralt said sympathetically. His bard was a romantic disaster, but it honestly wasn't on purpose. The room went quiet for a long moment.

“Enough D and M.” Bazza said with a bright smile, and a clap of his hands.

Jaskier confused, started to ask. “Isn’t that S an-”

“Deep and Meaningful. Conversation.” Geralt translated quickly before things got ridiculous again.

Bazza grinned at Geralt speculatively, then uttered another incredibly dense dialect statement.  
"Jaskier, just to lay it out, I'm alright with you being a bit poofy lah di dah n shit. I reckon we need the full rainbow ‘n that. Not saying I want ya to crank it up my shitter. But you're a sight for sore eyes, and I'd bet two bob you'd be an ace snog. Don't let the bastards get you down." 

"I ...Thank.. you?" Jaskier replied, eyes narrowed at Bazza a moment, then looking to Geralt to translate again. 

"What's that whole bit about poofy shitter mean?" He half whispered, knowing Bazza could hear him anyway.

Geralt swiped a hand over his face in disbelief and embarrassment.  
"He thinks you're also attracted to men due to your effeminate clothing and.. delicate manners. He expressed ... a lack of prejudice about it. And while he's not interested in... sex with you," he translated uncomfortably. "He... sees the appeal of your face and personality." Geralt said flatly. "... and he hopes bullies don't interfere with your ...being you."

"Nope. I still don't know how to answer that properly." Jaskier said, dunking himself to wash out his hair. 

"I'm not drunk enough for this either." Geralt said, unimpressed, to Bazza, who grinned back. 

Jaskier resurfaced, and mooted thoughtfully. "Bazza... if I didn't know better, I'd think you were using your dialect to force Geralt into translating embarrassing things, in an attempt to get him to loosen up." Jaskier said, getting out of the bath, and drying himself off, face first.

"Well.. " Bazza allowed, laconically. "He can be stiff as a prick in a knock shop. Loosening up would do 'im good, don’tcha think?"

"Oh, Geralt. What does knock shop mean?" Jaskier purred smugly, happy to be in on the game with Bazza. 

"If you two don't stop being pricks, I'm locking you both out. " Geralt replied faux amiably. 

Bazza laughed. 

Jaskier hurriedly dressed, in case he made good on his threat. 

Now that Bazza was happy they’d successfully navigated their first deep conversation, he gave Jaskier a proper bear hug like the one he’d greeted Geralt with. Afterwards, they all settled into their beds without fuss. The quiet and peace was comfortable, companionable, until.

"Geralt!" Jaskier hissed in an urgent, still somewhat tipsy whisper. "Geralt, I just realised that earlier you praised my singing. You're my bastard Geralt. You always will be." Jaskier stated with the utter honesty of sleepiness.

Bazza chuckled quietly.

Geralt sighed. "Sure thing, Jas. You too. Go to sleep.” Geralt said. 

Sweet dreams were had.


	6. Witcher Football

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this is just the lead up, but it's so cheerful I want to share

Jaskier woke muzzily, mind sluggish to put together what he was seeing, due to the aching in his.. everything. He groaned unhappily. Why had he accepted a drinking match with Bazza? Profession pride? Professional pride be arsed, it was personal pride and it got him nothing good... oh Gods he really said that didn’t he?

Bazza is looking as self assured as always while fiddling with a mis-shapen lump of rags and leather scraps. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Bazza said, noting his waking.

“Morning.. Bazza.” Jaskier’s vocabulary obviously wasn’t awake enough for quipping. “What is that?” He asked, removing his hand from the blankets just enough to point at the lumpy egg shaoed object Bazza was tying together.

“The footy.” Bazza said, as though that explained everything. 

“... footy.” Jaskier replied, completely unenlightened.

“Where’s your head? Game’s on in a tic.” Bazza asked, confused. 

“Geralt, help me, what’s happening?” Jaskier called across to Geralt, who was brushing his hair out somewhat savagely as he got ready to go.

“Football.” Geralt said, unhelpfully succinct as he wrestled with a particularly stubborn knot.

“You musta been pissed out of your gourd last night.” Bazza said contemplatively. 

“Pissed as in drunk? Yes. There’s also the not small matter of your impenetrable dialect. What did I miss?” Jaskier asked. The pair of Witchers appeared to be in a good mood as they glanced at one another.

“You don’t remember when I challenged Geralt to a little friendly, in the paddock over yonder?” Bazzagestured through solid wall as though that helped explain somehow

"Football exhibition match in a fallow field.” Geralt supplied the translation.

“Is that what that was about?” Jaskier asked rhetorically, looking back over his memory of the performance last night. He remembered teasing Bazza about which witcher was better, and something about ‘how about we find out.’ being Bazza’s reply, including a terse description of terms, as though they were going to be duelling. Jaskier had thought it was all just a joke.

"Hop to. You’re Ref.” Bazza said, patting Jaskier on the knee enthusiastically.

“My Ref...?” Jaskier asked uncertainly.

“Referee, rule keeper.” Geralt supplied.

“I don’t know the rules for Footy, or any other game really.” Jaskier said, lying on his back, one arm over his eyes.

“No worries mate, it’s backyard footy.” Bazza said happily.

“Right...” Jaskier just gave up trying to understand. Apparently his opinion on matters was irrelevant at this point anyway.

“He means your job is to announce goals and drink beer.” Geralt said.

“Wait, you mean I will be like, a Ringmaster or something?” Jaskier pushed himself up out of the blankets in interest.

“Yeah, sure. If you squint sideways.” Bazza said, nominally agreeing.

“Well why didn’t you say so? Did you get me breakfast? Where’s my doublet?” Jaskier asked, scrounging through his pack to find a comb. 

Bazza chuckled. “That’s our muso.”

Geralt hummed in agreement, smile softening his expression.

...

By the time they all arrived at the designated battleground, the field was littered with all the nearby farm-hands, and their variously sized children. As they watched, a few more showed up from further afield upon old farming nags. Apparently word had gotten around, and the footy game was going to be the day’s entertainment. 

The Innkeeper had sent a strapping young lad with a keg to sell cups of ale to the thirsty farmers, and a lass with a basket of sandwiches, fruit and nuts for the hungry. As they rolled up the whole place had a market atmosphere. People were laughing and catching up with friends, or resting in the shade of trees, the child climbing and chasing one another.

The crowd hushed as their little group walked onto the field. Farmers whispered to each other and stared at the Witchers. They cut imposing figures, armed as they were with their usual set of blades, even without the matching armour. The blades weren’t really optional. A Witcher was never completely off duty, after all. Bazza was taking things seriously for once, chatting with Geralt about house rules and field size with a furrowed brow, no trademark grin to soften the sight, and the field truly took on the ominous air of a duel. 

Grinning, Jaskier swaggered on up and barked the crowd expertly, while Geralt and Bazza set up the playing field efficiently, using sticks, twine and spare bits of cloth. 

Finding a handy stump, Jaskier stood upon it with a flourish and began warming the crowd. “My good people. I see you’re noticed our dire combatant’s arrival.” Bazza and Geralt acknowledged his introduction and extravagant arm wave with a smile and a nod, respectively. “Today you will witness a contest unlike any you’ve seen before.” 

“Two warriors, alike in valour, face one another across the field, to test their strength, speed and wits against a worthy opponent, one another.”

“Who will triumph on this glorious day?” 

“Will it be our own, our champion monster slayer, protector of the innocent, The White Wolf himself, Geralt of Rivia?” Jaskier asked rhetorically, his fingers curling in the air as though caressing the words out of his mouth.

“Or will it be our wild card? The Golden haired mystery from the Great Southern Land, tamer of beasts, bruiser of egos, Bazza of Wagga Wagga?” He said with a grit to his voice to embellish the imaginary threat of this newcomer. His hand clawing the air in an angry looking flourish.

“Through this contest, you will glimpse the type of abilities needed to vanquish eldritch horrors - today used harmlessly for a friendly match of Backyard Football.” He said with a simple happiness to suit the carnival atmosphere they’d walked into.

“And I, your humble bard Jaskier, have the solemn duty to referee the match. I am final arbiter of this contest, but the crowd's opinion will always be taken into consideration.” Jaskier bowed floridly, with an indukgent air. 

"Who will win, who will lose? Who's buying drinks afterwards? Only time will tell. Come gather and cheer them on!" He raised an arm enthusiastically. 

Both Witchers looked at each other, shook their heads, and nodded towards Jaskier.

"What, hey - no." Jaskier says quickly, noticing the little exchange between them. Then sucks his teeth in annoyance that Bazza was going to have whoever he wanted to pay for the drinks, because it's Bazza.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how dense the slang is for the average reader. Comments are love.


End file.
